Read Online Beast by Donna Jo Napoli - Free Book Online Page B

Why have you come?” He smells of pistachio, his favorite nut. He smells human, familiar, father, meat.
    Loud voices come from the palace. I see torches.
    Father puts his hands around my throat, reaching under my thick mane.
    The men are coming.
    Father’s hands tighten.
    And now I see the pari’s curse realizing itself—I see the Shah standing over the body of Prince Orasmyn, looking at his own hands aghast. A father who has killed his son. An excruciating pain that can never lessen.
    I butt him hard in the chest.
    Father falls backward.
    I run.
    The men with torches are in the pavilion; they surround Father. Two brave souls peer out into the dark after me. But I am already past their line of vision, and no one dares chase a lion by night.
    I run to the fruit-tree garden. The small pool shines black in the dimmest moonlight. I bend my forelegs and drink. I drink and drink until I slake this thirst.
    If only the face of the pari would appear in the water, I’d drink it away. I’d obliterate it for all eternity.
    I walk back toward the palace. The voices have died down; most of the men have gone back to bed. But three men with torches guard the body of my lioness.
    I stay close to the wall of the hunting park, completely obscured in the dark, and go to the fragrance garden. I walk through sewti, which blooms white year round, especially toward the end of the rains. I walk through mongra, a yellow I will never again distinguish from gray. Bholsari and chambeli and riabel and kuzah. All the flowers I have tended with care, working alongside the baghbanha —the gardeners — alongside Kiyumars. I roll around the gulhaye sourkh — my dear, dear rosebeds — aching for the loss of so much, of everything gentle, everything good.
    Yes, the pari’s curse meant precisely this. For this is death, is it not? A lion may be the one beast that could never survive on the Shahs grounds — the grounds of the ruler of all Persia. He would always be hunting me down. The lion is banished. My father has killed his son.
    I gather myself within this strange new skin and trot off to the north, along the path that leads forever to the mountains.

PART 3
Lion

CHAPTER EIGHT
Alone
    B y full dawn I am in the mountains. Wilderness lies to the north—a great wilderness to hide me.
    I need a plan — I need to gather my energies and forge ahead. I tell myself these things, yet I have no urge to act upon that knowledge; nothing perturbs me. My belly is still full. The world slows. For now I nap, basking in the open sunshine, far from any path humans might take, but close to water.
    When I wake, I check my hands again—they are still paws. I knew they would be; by now I knew. I roll in the stream, then rise and crouch, rise and crouch, growling softly, thinking the words:
    In the name of God, Most Compassionate, Most Merciful.
    Praise be to God, Lord of the Worlds.
    This bathing is my attempt at the wudhu; this growl, my attempt at prayer, pathetic though it be. I wonder how long it will take before I forget the words to Al-Fatiha, the opening of the Qur’an. May I not live that long.
    I spend hours intently watching other animals: birds, insects, lizards, and snakes. The day lengthens.
    But night, when it finally comes to the mountain, comes all at once, in a hurry, carrying unfamiliar noises that press upon my isolation. All of me longs for company, the comfort of community. I wander silently, alert for dangers, searching until I find a protected ledge. The rock is warm under my belly. After awhile, I sleep.
    The sound of scampering feet wakes me. My eyes adjust quickly to the night. A young hyrax runs across my ledge. It darts, rodentlike, to the low bush on the other side and feeds, oblivious of me. Five more young come racing after it, chasing each other in glee. They are no larger than my paw.
    I lift my head to watch better.
    Two of the creatures notice me. The hairs on their backs near their